


The Living Room

by 100dabbo



Series: Two Reasonable Members of Society [2]
Category: Withnail & I (1986)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21885622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100dabbo/pseuds/100dabbo
Summary: Withnail is cold and Marwood makes him forget all about it.
Relationships: Peter Marwood/Withnail
Series: Two Reasonable Members of Society [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576072
Kudos: 16





	The Living Room

An hour later, Withnail emerged from the bathroom and slugged himself up the stairs, immediately returning to with Marwood with his complaints,

“God, it’s fucking freezing,” He lamented, legs and chest exposed; just a towel draped over his thin frame of a body. He flopped onto the sofa beside Marwood, facing him with knees at his chin, rubbing at his skin intensely and wincing through the cold. The other man refused to look up from his paper, merely offering an affirmative hum, digging his chin into his polo neck for warmth. Withnail lit a cigarette with a flamboyant flick of his match and wafted out the flame, taking a long drag before hissing, “ _Well_ , what are we going to do about it?!” He returned the cigarette between his teeth and sucked hard on it, inhaling far too much nicotine to be healthy in one draw. His companion, looking through his round glasses, glanced above his paper to the shivering man. He sighed and set the paper over his legs,

“Perhaps put some clothes on and stop prancing around with just a towel on?” He suggested, looking into Withnail’s glassy eyes.

“How _dare_ you!” The man retorted, defensive as ever, “Me? _Prancing?_ I have half a bloody mind to get up and leave right about now.” He finished with another drag on the cigarette, the ash falling in a lump onto the couch cushion. He refused to reach for any clothes, however, and Marwood retuned the paper to his view, blocking out the incomprehensible drunk and murmured,

“What’s stopping you?”

Withnail swallowed, hard, and grit his teeth in rage, seething at his companion’s words. He didn’t get up, instead exaggerated movements as he rubbed his limbs to restore the ever-fleeting heat from his bony mass. He stared at Marwood, still behind the paper-wall of noticeable events, weather and sport, intently reading the opinion columns. He tried to break the silence,

“God, it’s fucking _Baltic!_ ” 

Marwood crumpled the paper down, clearly frustrated at this point,

“As you have mentioned, yes, it is cold!” Though he would never raise his voice too high, not at the poor man who sat opposite him, clearly already out of his mind from just two hours of withdrawal. He set the paper down onto the floor and looked again into Withnail’s eyes, “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Have some fucking sympathy for once in your life, perhaps?!” Withnail spat, a genuine insult that nonetheless caused the other man to laugh,

“Sympathy? We’re in the same fucking boat here, Withnail!”

“Oh, for fuck’s _sake!_ ” He wailed in a high-pitched cry, throwing his head onto the armrest and stretching his legs out onto Marwood’s shoulders, “I’m clearly more cold that you are, you’re just too competitive to admit it!” He refused to realise the irony in his speech and continued nevertheless, “Just rub my legs for Christ’s sake, before I die of bloody hypothermia!”

“I’m not going to rub your legs, Withnail, just put some fucking clothes on.” Marwood said, watching the man furiously stoke his freezing skin up and down. Withnail stopped and looked up, clearly frustrated by his response, taking the cigarette from his lips to hiss,

“This is ridiculous.”

Marwood rolled his eyes, his eccentric companion evidently at his limit at this point. He needed calming down, and quickly. So, a hand of his snaked over to Withnail’s shin, holding onto it and beginning to stroke up and down; the friction returning the much-needed heat into his shivering legs. The man smiled and returned the cigarette to his lips, giving it another draw and exhaling the smoke from the corner of his mouth. Then, in an unexpected action, Marwood’s hand began to climb up his leg higher and reach up to his thigh, his warm palm kindly rubbing onto his chilled skin; when the man noticed this, he slowly took the cigarette from his lips and held it between his two fingers, fixing his eyes onto Marwood’s hand. He fidgeted in his position and moved the towel so as more of it covered his crotch, but when Marwood smirked, he knew he was in for it; there was no point in even trying to hide his erection anymore. Marwood’s other hand ripped the towel away from his body, shirking it onto the floor without care, exposing the man’s body to the harsh chill of the room more than before. Withnail yelped as the icy draft past over him, but quickly shut up once his companion grabbed his dick with his hand, the other continuing to stroke his thigh,

“Are you cold, Withnail?”

The man threw his head back onto the armrest again, this time with pleasure, and whined in a drawn out and almost inaudible voice,

“Yes…”

Marwood grinned and jerked his wrist with a new speed, his warm palm not only offering his dick the pleasurable friction he desired, but also the warmth that got him into this situation in the first place. After a few more traces down Withnail’s cock, he moved the man’s legs to each of his shoulders and bent down between them, his lips mere inches away from his leaking tip. Withnail groaned loudly, still not managing to say anything of merit since the moment his companion introduced his hand, and it made Marwood laugh to watch it; contented with himself that he had the power to get him to be quiet for once. The other man’s free hand rose to reach the back of his neck, his bony fingers causing a chill to follow down his spine. When they interlaced with his curly locks, he pushed down gently, encouraging him to apply his mouth where his hand still stroked. 

So, slowly, Marwood bent his neck down to follow the directions of Withnail’s hand and ever so teasingly press his wet lips against his head, painstakingly and slowly kissing it, not letting it into his mouth any further so as to prolong his waiting. Withnail didn’t respond well to this cruel game, conflicted between the vexatious audacity of his companion teasing him and the limited pleasure he was receiving, making his legs shake and teeth dig into his lips. Marwood was fully aware of this, holding back his laughs as the ‘suffering’ man groaned to the feeling of his lips, body simply begging for more of his withholding mouth to come down on his shaft. 

Once he had concluded that he had spent enough time taunting Withnail, he decided to go down, bit by bit, letting his hot saliva gradually slide down his dick as his tongue chased, deliciously following the descent until it was wholly inside of his well-trained mouth, throbbing and leaking at the feeling,

“Oh, _fuck_ me, that’s _glorious!_ ” The man whined, fingers tightening their grip in Marwood’s hair, uncaringly and brashly pushing his throat down for his nose to touch his stomach. He was lucky that Marwood could take it, but after a second or two of holding the position, he choked and rose up to gasp for air, looking Withnail in the eyes; that glassy and almost teary look of surprise and shock still contained within them. He smiled coyly, beautiful lips stretching wide before he came down on him again with more ferocity, cheeks hollowing and saliva churning to make his dick hot and wet with it. 

Withnail yelped for a second time, forgetting all about how his fingers had turned stiff and numb, now concentrating on the new rapturing divinity of Marwood’s mouth and all its beauty. His body convulsed and shook, hips uncontrollably bucking into the man’s mouth harder, one hand intensely clutched onto the back of Marwood’s neck while the other struggled to keep a hold of the still lit cigarette. He unintentionally pinched at the soft skin of Marwood’s neck; all of his tension being released within the bliss of the hard-working tongue that lapped the base of his shaft.

“Oh, _God!_ ” He shouted, a cue for the man between his legs to prepare for his finish, and a moment later he came down his throat, raucously whining and teeth gritting through it. He gasped for air and looked down, seeing the man’s head still between his legs.

And when Marwood finally took his mouth off of his cock, he spat out the ejaculate onto the floor like a heathen, panting for his breath and smiling wildly. He gazed back at Withnail, who struggled to keep his head up straight, looking through his eyelashes. He too smirked and did nothing as Marwood took the near finished cigarette from between his numb fingers,

“Now put some fucking clothes on, Withnail.”


End file.
